


A Dangerous Habit

by FettsOnTop (GTFF)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Contractual Slavery, Drug Use, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Leia Skywalker au, rarepair, this is me assuming you wanted both pairings in the same fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-08-30 10:10:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8529019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GTFF/pseuds/FettsOnTop
Summary: Leia is caught in a dead-end contract job at Jabba's Palace. The only thing that makes it bearable is her friend Oola, who lately has been seeing one of the Hutt's favorite bounty hunters.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spaceyquill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceyquill/gifts).



“This is my friend, Leia.” Oola says, raising her voice over the music. “Be nice to her. I have to do my last set.”

Her slender green fingers graze his armored shoulder plate as she glides away. Leia knows what that means. This is the bounty hunter, Oola’s latest bedmate. She isn’t sure what to make of him. It’s hard to make anything of a man whose face is hidden by a helmet.

“Kitchen?” He says.

“No. Droid repair.” Leia folds her arms over her chest. There are only two kinds of females at Jabba’s palace. Staff and entertainment. It’s obvious she’s the former, in fact, she’s made damn sure it is. She shaved off her hair the first week. She wears men’s clothing, old and ill-fitting. Jabba’s patrons are not always well-behaved.

She glances at the bounty hunter again. “He’s not like the rest of them,” Oola had said. “He’s polite. Doesn’t brawl. Doesn’t do spice. Doesn’t even drink.” And then she’d leaned closer to Leia, speaking in a whisper. “And everyone’s a little afraid of him. Even Jabba.”

Her eyes wander back to the center of the throne room, where Oola performs for the Hutt and his cronies. She moves to the music with wide, graceful sweeps of her arms and legs. Jabba watches with his usual bulbous gaze, absently petting the Zeltron slave he keeps at his side. She’s wearing a metal collar, connected to the dias by a long chain. That’s new. A punishment for attempting to escape.

“Where are you from?”

The question is offered so stiffly and abruptly that it takes Leia a moment to register it’s origin. She looks over at the bounty hunter and shrugs. “I grew up in the Jundland Wastes, east of Mos Eisley. The closest town would be Anchorhead. What about you?”

“You’ve never heard of it.” He shifts. “I’ve been to Anchorhead. Lots of moisture farms in that area.”

“Yeah, I know. I grew up on one. Why were you out there?”

“Work.”

There was another long period of silence while Leia watched her friend dance. Oola did say he wasn’t much of a talker.

“Do you want something to drink?”

Her attention snapped back to him. “I shouldn’t. I’m not not even supposed to be up here. Don’t let me stop you, though, if you want something.”

Oola’s dance ended, and Jabba gave a pleased gurgle. “Do that again,” he demanded, and the band started up again. Leia sighed. “I have to get back to the boiler room. Tell Oola I said she was perfect, as usual. It was nice to meet you…” She glanced up. “Sorry, she told me your name, but I forgot it.”

“Boba Fett.”

“Boba Fett. Okay. See you around.”

 

* * *

 

“You can’t stay?”

Oola twists around as she slips the halter top of her costume back over her head. Boba is stretched out on the bed, watching her through half-closed eyes. It’s tempting. The yellow silk sheets make a nice contrast to his tan skin and dark hair, and this bed is much more comfortable than her own.

But rules are rules. And breaking them would cost her too much. “I can’t. Sorry.” She lifts her lekku free of the straps and ties the garment into place. “Are you leaving today?”

He nods. “Back to work.”

“You’re so lucky,” she says ruefully as she pulls the rest of her costume out from the tangle of sheets. “You get to fly away from here.” She smiles to lighten the mood. “Maybe I should have become a bounty hunter instead of a dancer.”

One corner of his mouth turns up. “How much longer do you have on your contract?”

“Three hundred and seventy eight days.” She looks at him from the corners of her eyes, trying to gauge his intent. “You gonna offer me a job when my time is up?”

“I don’t do partners.” He tucks his hands behind his head. “But when you’re ready to leave, I’ll provide transportation. Anywhere you want to go.”

Oola leans over to give him one last kiss. “You’re a good man.” She leaves the bed, scooping up her sandals in her hand. “But just so you know, when I leave, I’m taking Leia with me.”

“She’s not under contract?”

“They wouldn’t miss her.” Boba raises an eyebrow and Oola stares back defiantly. “She was fresh off the farm, and that sack-of-poodoo Bib Fortuna signed her on for a five-year contract. Almost all of her wages are room and board. She’ll never get out of here without help.”

“That kind of ‘help’ is what the Hutts call kidnapping,” he notes grimly. “Maybe she should have stayed on her farm.”

“She couldn’t. I don’t have all the details, but I know her whole family was killed. She’s got no one.”

He’s silent for a long moment, his face unreadable. Oola is beginning to think she made a mistake. She got too serious.

“Compassion,” he says finally. “Is a dangerous habit in a place like this. Be careful.”

 

* * *

 

A gram of spice is priced at one day. That’s one more day on Leia’s contract, one more day in the hell-pit of the boiler room where broken droids are gutted and refitted until their processors are fried. But when you’re here for five years, what’s one more day? Spice carries her when she has to spend all day on her feet, grinding down memory cylinders. She doesn’t even notice the tiny burns and cuts on her hands, because in her mind she’s far away.

The sand is blowing across the dunes and Aunt Beru is calling her home for supper. Over dinner she’ll tell Uncle Owen that she doesn’t want to go the Academy. It’s a lie, but it’ll make him happy.

By nightfall, the spice haze has worn off. Leia’s exhausted, but she slips upstairs and lurks in the shadows of the throne room for an hour or two. Jabba’s not in the mood for music tonight, so he brings up two prisoners and orders them to fight. The winner will be freed.

It’s a horrible, ugly display, but like the spice, it makes everything else disappear. Oola slips over to join her. “Hard day?”

Leia nods. “I’m circling. It doesn’t help.”

The Twi’lek tsks. “What did I tell you about spice? Not every day.”

“I’m not,” Leia mutters, looking for a change of subject. “Haven’t seen your boyfriend in a while.”

She sees the flash of uncertainty in her friend’s eyes before she covers it with a flick of her head. “He’ll be back. And boy, when he does…” She bites her lip in an exaggerated fashion and Leia rolls her eyes.

“Yeah. Sure.”

“You don’t know. Do you know?” Oola arches her brows.

“I know enough.”

“That’s a ‘no,’” She lowers her voice. “You want to know? I’ll loan you Boba.”

“What?” Leia laughs. “No.”

“You sure? I think he’d be a good first time. Are you really planning to keep your legs shut for five years?”

“I don’t know.” Leia lets her eyes roam over the crowd at the bar. “There was a man here once or twice. With the Wookiee?”

“Hmm. I heard he was boarded by Imps. I haven’t seen him since.” Leia shrugs, and her friend touches her arm. “He’s a _smuggler_.” She makes a face and wiggles her fingers. “You don’t know where that’s been.”

“It doesn’t really matter now.” Even if he did come back, he might not be interested anyway. Leia knows how she looks. Shaved head, dirty hands, dark circles under her eyes. It’s her camouflage. Her protection. She’s seen what Oola and the other females have to deal with. It’s not worth it.

In the throne room, the fight is going too slowly for Jabba. “Bosca!” He says, and slams his hand down on the trapdoor button. One of the prisoners drops down into the rancor pit with a startled shriek. The other manages to catch the edge, but the Gamorrean guards ignore his pleading and jab him with their spears until he falls.

Their screams fill the air. So do the other sounds. She huddles against the wall with Oola, and neither of them says a word. At some point the trapdoor closes, and the band begins to play. Bib Fortuna, the majordomo, gestures to Oola. Leia can her feel her shudder against her arm.

“Well,” she says with a forced smile. “Back to work.”

 

* * *

 

Eight days pass. On three of those days, Leia succumbs to the spice haze, and those days pass as if she’s floating through a dream. On the ninth day, she’s going through all the reasons in her mind why she _shouldn’t_ , trying to convince herself that she won’t _really_ go crazy without it.

When she looks up, Boba Fett is standing at her bench.

She turns off the welder and lifts her face shield. “What are you doing here?”

“I need droid repair,” he says. “Come with me.”

Leia sets down her equipment and follows him. It’s the first time she’s been outside in weeks, and the sunlight blinds her. “Wait,” she says, trying not to stumble in the sand. Her outstretched hand brushes against rough fabric and she realizes it’s his glove. She grasps at his outstretched hand.

He leads her forward, and after about a dozen steps her eyes start to adjust. There’s a ship ahead of them, resting on a flat plane just below the palace. Leia looks down at his hand still holding hers, and she wonders if this could possibly be some crazy plan of Oola’s, and the bounty hunter is taking her to his ship to bed her.

It’s not as scary a thought as it could be. Maybe she’s just that desperate for a break in the monotony of her job.

He releases her hand as they approach the ship and the back hatch opens by some remote command. Leia steps into the cargo bay of the small vessel, taking in the holding cages and caches of weaponry. Tools of his trade.

“Here.” He hands her a reflexive spanner and motions to a workbench crowded under the hull. There’s a partially disassembled droid head on it. It seems he actually does need droid repair after all. “What are you trying to to do?” Leia inquires as she seats herself at the bench.

“I need to disconnect the memory port, but someone attached a wipe trigger to it.”

“Ugh.” Leia ran her thumb over the melded switch. “They plastered the whole backing. Do you have a micro-scraper or something sharp on a long handle?”

“I think so.” His voice sounds different, and Leia turns her head. His helmet is resting on the edge of the bench, and she tries not to stare as he hunkers down to open a bin. His armor made her imagine someone older and more weathered, but he’s in his late twenties or early thirties. Clean-shaven, with short, neat black hair and tan skin. When he straightens, tool in hand, brown eyes meet hers with a thoughtful, questioning look. “Will this work?”

“Maybe.” She takes the scraper and forces her attention back to the task at hand. He stays close at the bench while she works.

“What kind of droids did you repair on your farm?”

“Oh...operators, mechs, a few translators.”

“Astromechs?”

“Yeah. They plug into equipment to keep them regulated, but they burn out easy in the fields. Some years we’d go through three or four of them…” She could hear her uncle, cursing and grumbling under his breath as yet another R2 unit sparked and died. Aunt Beru would rub his back and talk about how maybe they could upgrade the regulators after the next season, but that money was always spent. “We bought them from the Jawas.” She can see the massive Jawa Sandcrawler grinding it’s way over a dune. “My uncle _hated_ dealing with them, but it was either that or go to Mos Eisley. It was exciting when I was little. All the different kinds of droids-” Her hand slips, scraping her knuckle on the inside of the droid’s casing. Tears sting the back of her eyes, and she puts the droid head down to examine her injured finger. It’s bleeding a little. “ _Fek_.”

“I’ll get a medkit.”

“Don’t bother. It’s not that bad.” But he’s already gone, and at least it gives her a minute to blink down at the workbench and breathe. She’s not crying. It just stings, that’s all.

“Here.” He sets the kit on the bench and reaches for her hand. He’s taken his glove off, and his skin is warm against hers as he lays her hand flat and dabs at her bleeding knuckle with a square of gauze.

“I’m fine,” she protests. “You don’t need to do that.”

He lays the bloody gauze aside and spreads an antiseptic tab over the scrape. “Why did you leave?”

“What?”

“The farm.”

No, no, no. The tears come flooding back, along with that choking feeling in her throat. Scorched walls and scorched ground. Blackened bones… “Please stop,” she says, pulling her hand free. “I’m fine.”

He looks up, and his eyes meet hers. Leia can’t read his expression. “Something happened,” he says. Not a question. A statement.

She drops her eyes and picks up the scraper again. “It was sandpeople,” she says, and in her mind she shuts the door to the blackness and the charred stench in her nostrils. She goes back to work, wiggling the blade under the molded plaster. She needs to concentrate. One wrong move and the memory will be wiped.

She inhales, and pushes the blade a little further in. She can’t see it, but she can sense where it should be. There. She pries up the molding carefully, and wedges her fingers underneath. There’s the chip for the wipe trigger. One good tug, and it rolls into the palm of her hand. She holds it up for the bounty hunter to see and he inclines his head approvingly.

She drops it on the bench and points at the droid head. “What’s this for, anyway?”

“Work.”

She has to go back to her own work, she realizes with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

“What do I owe you?”

She turns to face him, caught off-guard by the question. Technically, her time belongs to Jabba, but he surely knows that. He’s offering her a bonus. Under the table. She could name a fair price for her work, and knock two days off her contract.

The thought is immediately depressing. Only two days? She thinks next about the spice, and the respite she could buy.

“You want to pay me?” She says, brushing off her palms. “Go see Oola. Jabba’s been in a foul mood all week. She needs a break.”

He looks at her for a moment, then nods. “I’ll walk you back.”

 

* * *

 

A week ago Oola would have sold her soul for his company. She goes to his room and they do what they always do, but when it’s over she’s restless and he notices.

“You’re distracted.”

She might as well face it head on. “I heard you took Leia out to your ship.”

“I had a droid problem.”

“You’ve never taken me out to your ship.”

One eyebrow lifts. “Are you jealous?”

Oola narrows her eyes at him. “Leia’s my friend. I want to know what your intentions are.”

“My _intentions_.” He repeats it like it’s a different language. They look at one another in silence for a few seconds, then Oola straightens and swings her legs off the edge of the bed. Boba catches her wrist, and she turns to glare at him.

He clearly doesn’t know what to say. His mouth tightens in frustration, and he releases her wrist. “I had to get her out to my ship so I could do a full facial scan.”

Oola freezes. “What?”

“Ever since I met her, I’ve had this…” He works his jaw a little. “Call it a hunch.”

“A hunch.”

“She’s from a tiny settlement outside of Mos Eisley called Anchorhead. I know exactly where it is, because about three years ago I captured a Jedi who was in hiding in the Jundland Wastes near there. His name was Obi-wan Kenobi. It took me years to find him. The only reason I succeeded was because I found someone who remembered him booking passage to Tatooine almost twenty years ago. Passage for him...and a baby girl.”

Oola stares at him, uncomprehending. “So what?”

“You said her entire family was killed. There was a massacre out near Anchorhead about a year ago. But it wasn’t sandpeople. It was a covert Imperial strike.”

“But-”

“I’m getting to that. A couple of droids were jettisoned from a rebel ship, and the Empire thought they landed here. I only know about it because there was a bounty posting. Imperial intelligence thought the droids might be trying to make contact with Kenobi, not realizing he was gone.” Boba sat up, his expression growing more intense as he spoke. “But maybe they were looking for someone else. I thought maybe if I could get a full scan of her face it would match Kenobi’s in a resemblance matrix. It didn’t, but while she was out there, she cut her finger and I was able to run her blood through a genetics spectrum analysis.”

Oola holds up a hand. “Have you always been like this? Did I miss some warning sign?”

“This is what I do,” he insists. “I pay attention.”

“So...you think Leia is this Jedi’s daughter...?”

“She’s not.” His mouth curves into a self-satisfied smile. “Not _that_ Jedi’s daughter. No relation to Kenobi. But I found her father right away. He was born a slave, so all of his genetics were in the database. He was a Jedi who worked with Kenobi by the name of Anakin Skywalker.”

“Okay. So if she’s his daughter...what does that mean?”

“Kenobi had a reason for hiding her. She’s _valuable_ to someone.”

She doesn’t miss the hard, speculative look in his eyes. Fear washes over her like a wave. “Boba, _no_.”

“I’m not going to do anything about it. Not until I know more.”

She’s on her feet in a second, grabbing for her clothes. “I have to go.”

“Oola.” She turns around, and his eyes meet hers. “If you tell her, she’ll try to leave. If she gets caught, Jabba will throw her to the rancor. And if she doesn’t, she’ll go looking for Skywalker, and whoever Kenobi was hiding her from will find her.”

He makes it sound so reasonable. As if it doesn’t benefit him. As if it doesn’t give him more time to cozy up to Leia and figure out who wants her and how much they’ll pay. “You’re _bantha poodoo_ ,” she nearly spits. “Don’t ever speak to me again.”

 

* * *

 

Leia can tell the second she sees her friend that something is wrong. Oola’s clearly high, her smile automatic, her eyes glazed. She dances just slightly off beat. When she finishes the first song, she goes straight to the bar and downs two shots.

“Hey,” Leia says, brushing past the other patrons to stand beside her. “Are you okay?”

“Leia.” Oola grasps her arm, her face serious. “Listen. Forget what I said about Boba. Don’t talk to him. Don’t go anywhere with him.”

“Why? He was very nice. He even offered to pay me.”

Oola laughs loudly. “That’s what he cares about. Credits. I mean it. Stay away from him.”

The music starts up again, and she’s gone.

Someone backs into Leia and hisses at her in Huttese, so she retreats to the shadows to watch her friend. Her chest feels tight. What happened? What did she miss?

Her eyes search the room for the bounty hunter until she finds him, standing alone in the corner of the throne room. Oola has always been there for her, she’s never steered her wrong, but she can’t bring herself to be afraid of Fett. Not after seeing the man beneath the mask. She follows the wall until she’s standing beside him.

His helmet tilts forward, a nod of greeting. “How’s your finger?”

“I thought we had a deal. I thought you were going to see Oola.”

“I did.”

“Well, apparently you made things worse.” She folds her arms over her chest. The bounty hunter doesn’t respond immediately.

“It wasn’t my intention.”

“Oh, well, that’s just fine,” she says, her voice dripping in sarcasm. “As long as you didn’t _intend_ to upset her-”

He jerks, his posture stiff. Leia’s attention snaps back to the center of the room, to the yellow light where Oola should be and isn’t. She’s on the floor, one leg tucked under her, her head drooping. She fell. She never falls.

Leia starts forward, but Fett grabs her arm and jerks her back as two guards seize Oola and pull her to her feet. They start to drag her off, but Jabba stops them with a word. They bring her forward to face the Hutt, and Leia can see the fear in her eyes. “You have to do something,” she hisses to Fett. He’s still holding her arm, his fingers as tight as durasteel bands.

“Wait,” he says in response.

Jabba is talking about how much he enjoys Oola’s dancing, and how he doesn’t want her to injure herself. She will join him, and rest for the remainder of the evening. He gives the Zeltron slave a push, and her chain rattles as she moves off to one side. With some assistance from the guards, Oola stumbles up onto the dais and takes her place. Her back is rigid and her eyes are down. Jabba strokes her lekku with his stubby fingers, his yellow eyes bright.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, the Zeltron girl is gone, chain and all. Oola does two contract days worth of spice before her first set, but her nerves are still shot. Jabba calls for an encore. And then another.

She’s seen this before.

She catches a glimpse of Boba, lurking in the shadows on the throne room. Part of her wants to ask for his help, but she doesn’t dare. She has to stay away from him. She has to keep Leia away from him.

By the time she finishes the second encore, the band is flagging. Sy Snootles is glaring at her as if she’s somehow to blame. They would be happy to see her fed to the rancor if it meant they didn’t have to play again.

As soon as she leaves the floor, Bib is at her side. Jabba has a gift for her. He would like to see her in it.

There’s a feeling of helplessness clawing at her insides. She returns to the harem and does another day of spice before she changes. It’s a ridiculous outfit, not designed for dancing, but she puts it on and returns to the floor. She twirls for Jabba and preens, a smile plastered on her face.

She spots Leia at the edge of the bar. “I need to use the ‘fresher,” she tells Bib. “Please.”

He lets her go. The throne room is spinning around her, the noise from the patrons a distant roar. She makes it to the bar and Leia wraps her arms around her, holding her up. “You need to lie down. You’re too blown.”

“I can’t. Jabba wants me to sit with him.” Her stomach is churning. She laughs, harshly. “I’m _fekking_ dead.”

“No. No, you’re not. Don’t say that.”

“Listen,” Oola says, struggling to make her mouth form the right words. “If something happens to me...this is very important. Boba thinks your father is someone important. A Jedi. He could turn you in for a reward. Even if he doesn’t, some other bounty hunter could. You have to get out of here as soon as possible.”

Leia stares at her. “My father was a pilot. Not a Jedi.”

“Was his name Anakin Skywalker?”

She doesn’t need an answer, the look on her friend’s face is enough. Someone is pulling at her arm. It’s Bib. Her break is over. “What are you doing up here?” the majordomo hisses at Leia. “Go back to the boiler room where you belong.”

She ducks her head, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Oola pushes off the bar and her feet tangle beneath her. She quickly regains her footing. The band is starting to play again. The night is far from over.

 

* * *

 

“I need to talk to you,” Leia says to the bounty hunter. “It’s important.”

He turns and walks away from her, only to stop after five or six steps and indicate with a jerk of his helmet that she should follow him. He has one of the guest chambers in the east wing, the ones Jabba reserves for his favored employees.

“My father wasn’t a Jedi Knight,” she says without preamble. “His name was Anakin Skywalker, but he was just a freighter pilot, and he died before I was born.”

“That’s what you were told.”

“Yes.” She stares at him, trying to see through his helmet. “Who do you think I am?”

“The daughter of Anakin Skywalker. Who _was_ a Jedi Knight, and an associate of Obi-wan Kenobi.” He pauses. “You might remember him as an old hermit who lived near your farm.”

It can’t be. It’s too crazy. “You mean old Ben? He disappeared years ago.”

“He disappeared because I was hired to find him and bring him in alive.”

“Hired by who?”

Fett takes a moment to remove his helmet and set it on the table beside the bed. “Darth Vader.”

The name means nothing to her, and yet there’s a feeling it produces deep in the pit of her stomach. Fear...and sadness. She can’t explain it. “Who is that?”

“He’s a Sith Lord who serves the Emperor.”

“And you think that this...Darth Vader...would pay you to bring me in. Because of who my father was?”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Jedi and Sith have a sensitivity to something they call the Force. Their children often have it as well. There are certain skills you can develop, with training. If you do have the same abilities as your father, it’s possible that Vader would want to train you."

It doesn’t even feel real. The Empire is just a name to her, a remote power that people on Tatooine blame for various ills. How much of what she’s heard is true, and how much of it is just drunk farmers talking?

There’s only one thing she knows for sure, and that’s that she could leave Jabba’s Palace. “How much would the reward be?”

“If you are what I think you are?” His expression reminds her of someone thinking of their favorite meal. “One hundred thousand.”

It’s a ludicrous amount of money. But he should know, right? It’s his business to know. “I want ten thousand. In advance.”

One of his eyebrows lifts just slightly. Leia knows her bargaining position is tenuous, but she’s hoping her cooperation is worth something to him. “It’s for Oola.”

He studies her face intently, but says nothing. Leia takes a step toward him and lifts her chin. “She’ll die if she stays. You know she will. Either she’ll overdose on spice or Jabba will throw her away like trash when he gets bored.”

“Her contract isn’t worth more than three thousand. Five at the most.”

“She’ll need money to go somewhere and start over. It’s the right thing to do,” she adds fiercely. “If you ever cared about her…”

He looks away, his jaw tight. “If I take you to Vader, there’s no going back. You understand that.”

“I’ll take my chances.” For once, they were her chances to take. Her life. Her decision. Her heart is racing as she meets the bounty hunter’s eyes. “Deal?”

“Deal.” His face softens just slightly, the corner of his mouth tipping up into a half-smile. “Oola said I would like you.”

“She’s usually right,” Leia replies, feeling powerful and dizzy all at once. “And there’s one more thing I want.”

She closes the gap between the two of them in two steps and stands on her toes to kiss him. Almost immediately his hands are pressing against her lower back, his mouth overtaking hers.

 

* * *

 

She can’t get up. Oola is that unholy duo of hungover and badly circling, and there’s no _fekking_ way she can move. Where is she, anyway? The sandy floor beneath her is familiar, but the air feels heavy and moist. She’s in one of the lower levels of the palace. It the dungeons? Oh gods. What if she opens her eyes and sees the rancor lumbering towards her?

“There.” She hears Bib Fortuna’s voice, and then an electronic beep. “Her contract is paid out.”

“And the dancer too.”

She forces her eyes open and squints into the gloom. Boba? She tries harder to raise her head.

“Ahhh...his excellency...”

“Tell him she overdosed. Very sad. Not surprising.”

She can just make out the bounty hunter as he hands something to Jabba’s majordomo and he slips it into his robes. He swipes a datacard through the reader on his belt and hands it to Boba.

“Hey,” she tries to say, “I’m not that far gone,” but the only thing that comes out of her lips is a rasping wheeze.

A soothing hand rubs her arm. “It’s okay,” Leia whispers from somewhere close. “Trust me. Everything is going to be okay.”

Her location changes, but it’s a long time before she registers the bleak metal ceiling over her. There’s two things she knows. The sleeping quarters aboard Fett’s ship are strictly utilitarian, and spice withdrawal is a bitch.

Leia is by her side as she sweats and groans and scratches at phantom itches. She sleeps, uneasily at first, and then deeply and soundly. When she wakes up, her head is finally clear and her skin feels disgusting. She leaves the bunk without waking her friend, washes up in the ‘fresher and drinks two full pouches of water.

She has a lot of questions.

They talk and sleep, and talk some more. They sit on the bunk and deplete Fett’s stash of ration bars and dried fruit. “Was it good?” she asks, and Leia’s cheeks turn pink.

“Not that I really have any basis for comparison…but, yes. It was good. I had a...good time.”

“I told you so. It’s not always like that. Some men, and women too, they don’t pay attention. My first time was with this guy who couldn’t-” She stops when Leia straightens, her eyes fixed over her shoulder. She turns to watch Boba duck into the berthe. He nods to them, grabs a change a of clothes and uses the ‘fresher.

When he emerges, he makes himself a cup of ready-caf. “We’re closing in on Malastare.” He looks at Oola. “That’s your stop. A dancer of your level should be able to make good money there. Not that you’ll have to work for a while.”

“And then you’ll turn Leia in to the Imps.”

“That was the deal.” He sips his caf.

Leia takes her hand and squeezes it tightly. “It’s going to be fine,” she says, but Oola can tell she doesn’t really believe it. It reminds her of the day she packed her bags for Tatooine. Her sister was standing in the doorway, her son on her hip and a worried frown on her face. “It’s such a dangerous place. Who’s going to look after you?”

“I’m not going to Malastate,” she announces to Fett. “I’m going with Leia.”

He shakes his head. “She’s valuable to them. You’re not.”

“I don’t care. I won’t let her do this alone.”

“Oola,” Leia says, a raw note in her voice.

“Boba,” she says in response, still looking at him. “You promised me. You said that when I left Jabba’s palace, you’d take me anywhere I wanted to go. I want to go with Leia.”

He doesn’t move or speak, but his jaw tightens and Oola can tell he’s pissed. He sets his cup down, his voice tightly controlled. “We’re landing in two standard hours. Be ready to leave.”

 

* * *

 

The spaceport at Port Pixelito is nothing like Mos Eisley. Leia has never seen so many ships, or beings, in her life. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?” She asks Oola.

“This is nothing,” Oola says, but her shoulders are tight.

Leia looks to Fett, but the bounty hunter doesn’t seem inclined to speak to either one of them. He’s in his full set of armor now, his face hidden behind his helmet. Leia holds out her hand. “The rest of my cut,” she reminds him. She might have to leave Oola here, but she won’t leave her empty handed.

He draws it from his belt, but his hand stops suddenly, the credit chit disappears in his fist and his fist drops to his side. “You want to stay with her.”

Leia stares at him, confused. “I promised-”

“So did I.” His words sound forced. “Vader doesn’t know you exist. I would keep it that way, if I were you.”

“Boba,” Oola says, her voice soft.

He takes a step back, towards his ship. “You both owe me for your contracts.”

It’s beginning to dawn on Leia that this is really happening. “We’ll pay you back,” she says quickly. “We’ll both get jobs and we’ll save every credit.”

“You’ll have to come back to collect it,” Oola notes, her full lips curling into a smile. “Think you’ll be able to find us?”

The sound that makes it through his helmet is more a snort than anything else. The Twi’lek lifts her fingers to her lips and blows him a kiss. “I knew you were a good man.”

His helmet tilts to one side in a way that manages to convey skepticism before he turns and walks back alone to his ship. Oola grasps Leia’s hand, and she clings to it, still half-convinced that this is a dream. “What do we do now?”

Oola takes another look around the spaceport. “We start over. We stick together. It’s going to be fine, Leia. Everything is going to be fine.”

 

* * *

_I wrote a mini-sequel to this fic for one of the Boba Fett shipping prompts. Check it out[here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13617453/chapters/33941760). _

 


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